


my foolish heart

by thewayofthemandalorian



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Awkwardness, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Pride, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewayofthemandalorian/pseuds/thewayofthemandalorian
Summary: You’ve been in love with your co-worker Marcus for years now. When Marcus tells you that he’s proposing to Teresa, you react badly, knowing that Teresa isn’t as invested in the relationship as Marcus is, causing the two of you to re-evalute your friendship. Months later, you show up in D.C. on transfer and must address the elephant in the room that is your feelings.
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for Marcus Pike. I really love his character and he deserved better than what he got. That said, this chapter is super angsty. I apologize in advance, and can only say that future chapters will be less angsty. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Swearing, angst, fighting, the writer does not like Teresa Lisbon's treatment of Marcus or Patrick Jane.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

Groaning with relief as you slip into the diner booth across from Marcus, having been on your feet for the past twenty hours, you leaned back into the plush material of the booth. You and he had finally solved the case that had been plaguing the art department for the past month. You offered your co-worker a weary smile.

“Tired?” he asked, his eyes weary with exhaustion as well. You nodded before perusing the menu.

 _Tell him,_ your brain whispered.

You had been stalling, biding your time. It would make him uncomfortable, you knew, but it was weighing on you. It had been for some time. You loved Marcus Pike. And he only saw you as a friend, that had been obvious, especially after he started dating Teresa Lisbon in the serious crimes unit. But he was leaving for Washington on transfer tomorrow, and you knew that you couldn’t let things linger the way they had been, despite his growing relationship with Lisbon.

Marcus’s voice calling your name pulled you from your reverie. You looked up from the menu. “You were miles away. Everything all right?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled you from a daydream.

 _No, not really_.

Before you could reply, the waitress shuffled over, a canned smile on her face. “What can I get you?” she asked. Marcus ordered pancakes as usual. You glanced at the menu, ordering the first thing your eyes landed on. Burger and fries it was, then.

The twenty-four hour diner was dead. It was just past elven o’clock at night. There was one other person at the bar. As the waitress dropped off your drinks, you toasted with Marcus.

“To cracking our last case together,” he said.

Your eyes tingled with unshed tears. “Don’t say that. You don’t know if my transfer application will be accepted or not.”

Even before Marcus had told you about his promotion, you had applied for a transfer to the Washington, D.C. office.

“That’s right,” Marcus replied, fighting a yawn. “You could be a pain in my ass in Washington, too. I better enjoy my peace and quiet while I can,” he teased.

“A pain in _your_ ass?” you joked, “don’t you mean the other way around?”

Marcus laughed. It was such a sweet, happy sound.

You played with the wrapper of your straw, biding your time. You had to say something. You _had_ to. It was killing you not to say anything. Though it would hurt for him to turn you down, a small part of you hoped that he wouldn’t. _He has a girlfriend_ , you remind yourself.

“I have to tell you something,” you said, not meeting his gaze. The waitress returned then with your food. “Thank you,” you told her as she dropped the burger in front of you.

“Me too, actually.” Marcus sounded excited, happy.

This piqued your attention. “You first,” you said, relieved that you didn’t have to bare your soul to him just yet.

Marcus grinned at you. “So, you know Teresa?”

_She’s all you’ve ever talked about for the past three months._

“Lisbon? Yeah, I know her,” you said, trying to keep your voice level. Marcus chuckled, thinking you were teasing him.

You didn’t think much of the CBI agent that your friend was dating. She seemed cold, calculating. The few times you met her, she seemed like she couldn’t care less about Marcus. Your cousin, whose boyfriend worked in the same department as Lisbon, had told you some stories. When her department teamed up with yours, you had seen the way she and Patrick Jane looked at each other.

Taking a bite of your burger, you gestured at him to continue.

“I asked her to come with me,” said Marcus, unable to keep the giddiness out of his voice. You nearly choked on your burger.

“ _Oh,_ ” you said, taking a sip of water to clear your throat. You hadn’t been expecting that. Your skirt suddenly felt too tight, your skin wrong, like your body was outgrowing your skin in dread at what this could imply. “That’s a bit -”

Marcus interrupted you. “Soon? Well, she said yes. And, um, well…” he trailed off for a moment.

Anticipation killing you, you said, “Yes? Well?” It came out harsher than you intended, noting how Marcus frowned for a moment.

“I asked her to marry me and she's probably going to say yes.”

Your half-eaten burger slipped from your hands. Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach. And before you could stop yourself, a singular word escaped your lips. “No.”

Heat filled your entire body. Embarrassment flooded your every vein and pore and nerve as you registered how Marcus shifted. His body language wasn’t open and genial. It was defensive.

“What do you mean, no?” he asked you quietly, his grin morphing into a frown.

Unsure of whether to backtrack or plunge ahead, you took another bite of the burger.

Marcus repeated the question, his voice deadly serious as he said your name.

Something snapped inside you. “No. I don’t think you should have asked her to marry you, Marcus.”

Whether it was genuine concern or jealousy that was egging you on, you couldn’t be sure.

He was startled. Hurt. “And why not?” His voice was defensive.

It was like you were drunk, the words spilling out of you without inhibition, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because she isn’t right for you. She doesn’t _want_ you, Marcus, she wants that asshole, Jane!”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? Did she tell you that?” he asked you. “Are you a clairvoyant like Jane is?” he demanded.

“Don’t have to be. A blind person can see that she’s only using you.”

“You really don’t like her, do you?” asked Marcus, anger lacing his voice.

Sarcasm dripped from your voice as you said, “Wow, what a surprise! You finally got it! I don’t like the person that my best friend is seeing because she’s using him for her own selfish interest! She’s _wrong_ for you, Marcus.”

Marcus scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “And if she’s wrong for me, just _who exactly_ is right for me? _You_?” he laughed bitterly.

Your heart shattered into a million pieces as an awkward tension settled around you, making itself at home between you and him. “ _Wow_. Fuck you, Pike. Don’t come crying to me when she leaves you for the man she _actually_ wants,” you said bitterly, taking your wallet from your purse and slapping down a fifty onto the table, not noticing the look of regret and shame that had come over Marcus’s face.

As you stormed out of the diner, the door slamming behind you, you ignored Marcus shouting after you.

Ignoring the looks of the people on the sidewalk as you stormed to your car, tears streamed down your face. They were a mix of anger, heartbreak, and shame.

_Why had you said those things?_

_Because you were right._

_* * *_

You drove home on autopilot, unaware of your surroundings. You couldn’t face him, not for a very long time. It was stupid. You were stupid. You shouldn’t have let him go first, should have just barrelled on and told him that you loved him.

 _Past tense_?

Shit. You would always love Marcus, you thought as a shuddering, gasping sob ripped through you.

Not even bothering to hang your coat up - just dumped it on the floor on top of your heels - you lay down on the couch and cried.

You were sorry, you really were. That wasn’t how you wanted it to go. Pulling your phone from your blazer pocket, you found Marcus’s contact.

 _I’m sorry_ , you typed. _I shouldn’t have said those things_.

Just as you were about to hit send, you noticed that Marcus was also writing a text to you. Erasing your own text, you waited to see what Marcus had to say. A few seconds later, he had seemingly erased what he had to say.

Well, then. Two could play at _that_ game.

Clicking out of your text message, you sent an email to your boss, effectively calling out sick for tomorrow, claiming exhaustion and an oncoming cold that you wanted to take out before it got too serious.

It was partially right. Tomorrow was Friday, so no one would look at you sideways when you showed up on Monday completely healthy. You couldn’t face Marcus tomorrow. Not on his last day. They were throwing him a going-away party, and you had no desire to celebrate.

Stumbling from the couch, you went to bed, exhaustion and remorse wiping you out. You were distantly aware of an email popping up on your phone, no doubt your boss responding. You hardly ever called off sick, so you knew that your boss would accept it without question.

After a fitful sleep, you woke with a start just after six in the morning. Less than five hours of sleep. God, you wanted to sleep for at least a year.

It had been undignified, what you had said last night, you knew that. But you also knew that Teresa wasn’t being entirely truthful with Marcus. Feelings for him or not, it had never sat right with you, the way that Teresa played with both Marcus and Patrick instead of dealing with her feelings like an adult.

Sure, you could have been a bit more couth when you told him what you thought of his would-be fiancée, but you didn’t think she showed much couth with him, regardless of how much she tried to pretend.

Head throbbing like you were hungover, you pulled the duvet up over your head and attempted to go back to sleep.

* * *

Marcus tried to put on a happy face as his co-workers celebrated his promotion. But after last night, he didn’t feel like smiling.

 _I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Can we talk?_ he had typed as he got in his car last night, the pancakes sitting heavy in his stomach. But as he saw that you were also typing, he erased his words, waiting for you to say what you wanted to say, hoping with all his heart that it wasn’t more anger and hurt.

He had fucked up, he knew he had. But he let his pride get the better of him, and now the one person he cared about the most was hurting as a result.

It had shocked him when you told him just what you thought of Teresa last night, though it shouldn’t have. You had always been so non-committal when he asked your opinion of her.

When she had accepted his proposal this morning, he had tried to feel happy, _elated_ even. What he felt, though, was hollowness. Like it was a pyrrhic victory. As Teresa had told him that yes, she would marry him, your words from last night nagged at him as he remembered that the one person he wanted to share his joy with was angry with him.

Marcus wondered what you had wanted to say to him. He never did find out. As he did one final sweep of what was once his office before having to go to the airport, Marcus tried not to think of how you hadn’t been at work today. The boss had said you were coming down with something.

 _Bullshit_ , Marcus thought. Still, he could not blame you. He wouldn’t want to be around him if he were you. Not after the venomous words that he had said to you in a moment of desparation to have the final word.

 _Why hadn’t he heard you out_? You’d hardly ever been wrong before. He’d dismissed it in the heat of the moment as you being jealous. Maybe you were, but he couldn’t deny that it was valid for you to be jealous. He’d hardly spent any time with you outside of work after he’d started dating Teresa, casting you off to the sidelines. It hadn’t been intentional. But he had seen the wounded looks you’d shot him as he said he couldn’t get drinks or go to a movie or do something after work or on weekends.

 _He really fucked up._ Marcus’s throat burned with shame. It hadn’t stopped burning since last night. He’d wanted to take those words back the second they were spoken.

 _And if she’s wrong for me, just_ _who exactly is right for me?_ _You?_

The words had played on a loop in his head all night, the look of undiluted hurt on your face seared into his mind’s eye, as he hoped - with futility - that the two of you could talk today. That he could apologize in person.

Once he settled into Washington with Teresa, you would see. Everything would work out just fine, he hoped.

Just as he was getting set up in his new place in D.C., Marcus’s phone rang. It was Teresa.

As she told him that she couldn’t marry him, that it was Jane - it was always Jane - that she wanted to be with, her voice unconvincingly contrite, Marcus was more surprised about the fact that he wasn’t too surprised by what Teresa had to say.

 _You were right._ Fuck.

As he pulled up your contact to tell you that you were right, he remembered what you had said. 

_Don’t come crying to me when she leaves you for the man she_ _actually wants._

* * *

Time passed. The wound of your last words with Marcus had started to scar over. As much as you tried not to think about him, you still loved him.

He had returned to the Texas office five months after you had last seen him, having done an undercover job. God bless your cousin’s boyfriend for texting you, informing you that Marcus was in the building and was going to make a stop in the art department before his return flight to D.C. You didn’t know how much Emma had told Joe, but apparently it was enough that he sent you a head’s up.

After word had spread that Teresa had dumped Marcus for Patrick, you tried to sit on your high horse. You had been right. But at the thought of Marcus having his heart broken by the woman he loved, your heart broke a little bit. You didn’t want him to be hurt. It didn’t stop you from being petty, though. You were professional, but cold, giving the other woman a taste of her own medicine.

In the weeks and months after your argument in the diner - which you hadn’t returned to since - it was as though you were recovering from a bad breakup. In a manner of speaking, you were. Throwing yourself into your work, Marcus would often pop up in your thoughts. Just generally, hoping he was well, that he was enjoying D.C., and that he was doing well in Washington. A number of times, you had considered calling or texting, but he had been so angry with you, he was probably still angry with you.

As the elevator pinged, you could hear your heart beat in your ears.

 _What would you say? What would_ he _say?_

Pretending to be busy with paperwork, you were acutely aware of Marcus greeting all of his former co-workers, his voice filtering through your opened door.

Then he was at your office door, a musical knock at the door.

Forcing yourself to turn around in your chair, you saw Marcus Pike for the first time in six months. Your mouth ran dry.

How had he become _more_ handsome?

“Hi,” Marcus said.

You licked your lips. “Hi, Marcus,” you said shyly, not meeting his gaze.

Marcus had grown a beard. It suited him. The tension in the room was palpable. Pungent. Both of you remembering what your last words to each other had been.

“It’s good to see you,” Marcus said.

You nodded. “Y-you, too.”

Both of you started to say something at the same time.

Marcus chuckled ruefully. “You first,” he said.

Pressing your lips together, you said, “I’m sorry, Marcus. About … that night.”

Sighing, Marcus nodded his head. “Yeah. Me, too.”

You expected to feel better. In a way you did, but it was a very half-assed apology. He had thrown you off-guard. You couldn’t help but note that he didn’t seem angry. Embarrassed, perhaps?

Changing the topic, Marcus asked you about your transfer, whether it had been accepted, knowing the answer already - he’d seen the memo that his supervisor had sent out a few days ago.

“It has. I start in Washington next week,” you said. “This is my last case.”

Marcus smiled at you. “That’s great! Art department?”

 _Unfortunately_.

“Yep!” You forced your voice to be upbeat, sounding chipper instead. You didn’t _do_ chipper.

Rubbing his beard, Marcus said, “Well, it’ll be good to work with you again.”

You knew he was just saying that to be polite, but you agreed with him all the same.

The two of you lingered there in the awkward silence until he had to leave for the airport, leaving many things still unsaid floating above your heads like clouds.

_I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I was wrong. I love you._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else here ever watch the show Bones? It also takes place in Washington, D.C. and features an FBI agent, Booth. While a few other characters are mentioned, Booth is the primary character that is used here, but spoilers for Bones, I guess? Also I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who’s sent feedback for this so far. I think the worst of the angst is over, but it’s still present. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: a bit more angst, awkwardness, a bit of pining, swearing, a minor argument, a declaration. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

_Sheepish_ was not usually a word you used to describe yourself. You didn’t _do_ sheepish. But when you showed up at the Bureau in Washington eight days later to get situated, sheepish is the one correct word to describe your behaviour around Marcus as he shows you your new office - _did he have it placed next to his on purpose?_

Marcus, for his own part, was kind and professionally friendly with you, as though you were the brand-new co-worker whose heart he hadn’t crushed five months ago. You had to appreciate the effort. You both knew how awkward it was going to be for the two of you. All you could do was hope that it would get easier with time, that the two of you would fall back into a routine. If not one that was the same as the routine you had back in Texas, then one that was relatively similar.

As he showed you around the office space and the department, you noticed how he lingered, how he wanted to reach out and touch your arm as he had done so often in the time before Teresa. It wasn’t romantic, it was just a Marcus thing. Marcus had always been a tactile man.

Marcus introduced you to the rest of the team. They seemed nice enough. You were sure that you would get along with most of them.

“All right,” said Marcus, as he stood at the door of your new office. “The computer guy should be in in a few hours to get everything set up. I’ll leave the list of temporary passwords in the top drawer and you can finish setting up on your first official day next week.”

You nodded appreciatively. “Sounds great,” you said. Technically, you weren’t even on the clock today. But Marcus had wanted to get you set up and settled in before you officially started on Monday. It was something that your former boss hadn’t done when you were hired. You liked it.

Residual feelings for Marcus aside, you thought that being the supervisor of the department fit him well. You had thought he would make a great supervisor even before he had been promoted.

Clearing your throat, you avoided Marcus’s gaze as he finished your tour of the department. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him rubbing the back of neck - something he only did when he was nervous or embarrassed.

“I guess, uh, I’ll leave you to it,” Marcus said, dropping his hand from the back of his neck as you looked at him. He had kept the beard from his undercover job.

You nodded. Offered him what you hoped to be a genuine smile as you said, “Thanks, Marcus.”

You picked up your backpack from where you had left it on the desk chair, hoisting it on your shoulders.

Marcus lingered in the doorway for just a moment longer. “It really is good to see you again.” He held your gaze for a long, semi-awkward moment before walking back to his own office.

* * *

Working with Marcus again after so long was a dichotomy. On the one hand, the rhythm the two of you had when it came to doing case work had never waned. Marcus and you had always worked well together when it came to cracking cases and brainstorming possible leads.

On the other hand, an awkward scrim had settled between the two of you. Both of you were blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room that was Marcus’s last night in Texas when you had spoken those words you both wished to swallow after speaking them, to unsay them. The thought of a transfer was never too far away in your mind. Regardless of how well you got along with everyone in the department, it was something that popped up every time things were considerably awkward with Marcus.

You had to give him credit for trying. He spoke to you with the same kindness that he extended to everyone else. He didn’t shun you, took your ideas seriously, and was overall … cordial with you. Every now and again, you thought you could see your Marcus attempt to come out and be more than just your boss as he had once been before returning to his usual exterior. You knew the Marcus who had once been your friend was in there somewhere. He had to be.

Through it all, you still loved him.

As the weeks turned into months, it slowly got easier to speak with Marcus. You would talk about your weekend plans or discuss the latest movie that one of you had seen. That awkward shroud loosened slightly, but it was still there, often rearing its ugly head.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do, Em?” you asked your cousin over facetime one night after work as you sipped on a glass of white wine.

“Listen, honey. You need to hear this. And this Marcus guy needs to hear it, too. But since he’s not here, you’re all I’ve got. He fucked up that night. I’m not disputing that. Rose-tinted glasses are a hell of a thing, and that’s probably where he was coming from. But he wasn’t the only one who fucked up.”

Instead of disputing her, you simply nodded, hanging your head slightly. “I know.”

“But the one that fucked up the most was that grackle, Lisbon.” In the background, you could hear her boyfriend snort out a laugh.

You sighed. “I just - I wish I could just apologize to him, properly, have things go back to the way they were before … all that.”

As always, your cousin spoke words of wisdom. “Then why don’t you?”

“I should. I know I should. But shouldn’t he do the same?” you asked, making your cousin groan.

Your cousin spoke your name sternly. “I know he hurt you, but - and I’m sorry to say this, but it’s true - you hurt _him_ , too. It’s not a one-way street.” It hurt to hear it, but your cousin was right. Taking another sip of wine, she continued. “All I can say is, be nice to the guy, apologize if you can - which you _should_ \- or offer an olive branch, and see how it all works out.”

 _An olive branch_. “What kind of olive branch?” you asked.

“I don’t know. Does he like coffee?” In the background, your cousin’s boyfriend said, “He’s a federal agent, babe, his bloodstream is like ninety percent coffee!”

You knew you had to swallow your pride. Your cousin was right. It wasn’t a one-way street, and you had fucked up just as much as Marcus had. Someone had to be the one to start righting the ship that was yours and Marcus’s relationship.

So, the next day, you ordered Marcus’s usual - a black coffee with cream and two sugars from your new favourite café - and left it on his desk with a little note. _Thought this would be better than the sludge they serve here_. You signed your name at the bottom of the sticky note, and head to your own office next to Marcus’s.

Marcus wasn’t long coming in after you. He’s surprised by the cup of coffee sitting on his desk in clear view. The sticky note identifying who gave it to him surprised him just as much. For the past three months, the two of you have avoided each other.

You jumped slightly at Marcus’s tap on the door. “Come in,” you squeaked.

By way of greeting, Marcus lifts the cup of coffee. “What’s this about?” he asked. But you never got the chance to answer, because at that moment, Marcus’s cell phone rang.

Stepping from the office, Marcus spoke to whoever was on the other end. He appeared back at your door a moment later. “We got a case. And a team-up with the homicide division. Grab your jacket, I’ll explain on our way to the crime scene.”

* * *

As he sipped the coffee that you had gotten him - you still knew _exactly_ how he took it - he explained that a millionaire art dealer had been murdered under suspicious circumstances. The two of you were on the case since no one else had arrived to the office yet. Marcus would bring the rest of the squad up to speed later, but for all intents and purposes, this was your case.

The homicide squad, as well as a team that you didn’t recognize, were already on the case.

“Agent Booth,” said Marcus, grabbing the attention of a man who was speculating a brunette woman taking samples.

The other FBI agent turned to face the two of you. “You must be Agent Pike,” said Booth. The two men shook hands before Marcus introduced you as his partner on this case. “We’re going to be working closely together. I don’t know if you’re aware that I’m also the liason with the Jeffersonian Institute and my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan is going to be helping with the autopsy and cause of death. Bones come on over here, meet our new best friends!” Booth said, calling over the brunette woman, who had finished her preliminary analysis.

As the woman Booth had called Bones walked towards you and Marcus, you noticed that she and Booth had matching wedding rings.

You liked Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. But as they walked away after setting up a plan, Marcus on the phone with Dr. Brennan’s boss Dr. Saroyan about details, you could hear Dr. Brennan say to her husband, “She’s in love with him, isn’t she?” no doubt referring to you. You couldn’t hear what Booth had to say, but you could hear his chuckle as they walked towards their car.

“Ready?” Marcus’s voice beside you made you jump. “Sorry,” he smiled. “I have that effect on people.”

“You’re worse than Booth,” you groused teasingly as you followed him back to the car.

The air between you seemed lighter, less tense than it had been before this morning. While you knew that there would still be moments of awkwardness, at least for the time being, you had a good feeling that you and Marcus had taken a step in the right direction.

Over the next few days, you and Marcus’s rapport continued to grow. One morning you found a sketch on your desk, a sunrise drawn in blue ink with the initials M.P. in the bottom left corner. The moments of awkwardness became fewer and farther between. The day that Eddie asked you out, Marcus had felt a surge of something - _jealousy_ , a small part of his brain whispered - and couldn’t figure out why, like always, he had been relieved when you politely declined. It was as though a lightbulb was trying to turn on but having the electricity die at the last second.

A few days later found you and Marcus theorizing with Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. The two of you liked Brennan and Booth. They got along much better with the art department than Lisbon’s team had ever done. Booth and Brennan ran a tight ship, but the case had hit a dead end, the prime suspect a mere grasp at a straw.

“I just don’t understand why she would kill her husband like that if they’re so in love if she even is the killer,” Marcus said.

You spoke, the double meaning clear in your voice. “Maybe she didn’t mean to hurt him. Maybe it was all a horrible mistake and she bit off more than she could chew.”

Marcus seemed to pick up on what you were saying. “And maybe he knew that and tried to defend himself, and in the process only made things worse.”

Booth and Brennan exchanged confused glances as you and Marcus continued your double-speak conversation. “Do you think he knows that she’s sorry?” you asked Marcus.

“I think he forgave her almost instantly, but he worries that she didn’t forgive _him_ for making things worse,” replied Marcus. Booth and Brennan continued to stare at the two of you.

Your breath hitched. “If she could tell him that she forgives him, that she never wanted to hurt him, that she was only trying to look out for his best interests and didn’t want to see him get caught up in something that he was, she would.”

“Oh, he knows that, sweetheart. He just hopes that she knows he didn’t mean anything by it either.” The old nickname that Marcus had called you slips out unbidden, but you know he means it.

Bravely, you said, “A-and I think she knows that, too.”

Booth broke the reverie you shared with Marcus. “Are we still talking about the Temples?”

* * *

Case closed. Marcus sat at the bar, Booth next to him. You and Brennan were engaged in your own conversation with Angela and Dr. Saroyan at a booth.

“So tell me from the beginning, Pike, what’s going on with your partner?” The question had caught Marcus off guard. At Marcus’s look, Booth continued. “Trust me, I know something’s going on between the two of ya.”

Taking a fortifying swig of beer, Marcus told Agent Booth everything. About Teresa, about the two of you having a falling-out over her, and how the two of you were trying to patch things up.

Booth listened, never once interrupting, waiting until Marcus had finished.“Wow, Pike. You and her really messed up.”

“I’m aware,” Marcus replied flatly.

Booth continued. “I know Agent Lisbon _and_ Patrick Jane, and lemme just tell you, you dodged a bullet with her. Those two _deserve_ each other.”

Marcus looked at you. You were laughing at something Dr. Saroyan was saying. “I’m not saying that your partner over there didn’t mess up, but you were wearing those rose-coloured glasses like nothing else when it came to Lisbon,” said Booth. “She was only looking out for you. You wouldn’t have been happy with Lisbon. Or you would have pretended to be, but really dying inside, wondering where the hell you had gone so wrong.”

Marcus thought that Booth was speaking from experience.

“And the fact that she _hesitated_ before saying yes? Looks to me that she wanted to rub it in Jane’s face or use you as a way of getting back at Jane for something,” Booth continued.

While it would have come to Marcus as a shock eight months ago, he wasn’t surprised by it. Nor was he surprised that he didn’t harbour any feelings for the CBI agent he was briefly engaged to. “I just … I fucked up with her.” He glanced in your direction again, Booth following his gaze. “And we’re trying to make it better, but …” Marcus trailed off, sighing as he took another sip of beer.

“I was in love with Bones for years. She refused to acknowledge that she felt the same way. When I came back from a training course in Afghanistan with a girlfriend, who was an awful lot like Lisbon the more I think about it, she realized that she loved me, too. I was…” Booth sighed regretfully “… _ugly_ about it.” He twisted his wedding band around his finger. “You’ll work through it. All people who are in love experience this sort of thing one time or another.”

Marcus protested, “But - but we’re not in love.” Booth just chuckled and shot Marcus a look that screamed, _Right. Of course you aren’t._

Forty-five minutes later, Marcus had you in front of your house, his car idling in the driveway.

You smiled at him, exhaustion from the three-week long case and relief that it was finally over a blend on your face. “Thanks for the lift, Marcus,” you said.

Before you could open the car door, Marcus stopped you, saying your name. “Are we okay?” he asked. He didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what he meant.

You nodded at him, your voice hitched slightly, “Y-yeah, Marcus. We’re good. I’m good if you are.”

* * *

You woke with a migraine. It was going to rain today. The air was thick with rain. The migraine was also from the fact that you knew what you were going to do at the end of the day. Hand in your transfer request.

Though things with Marcus were going a lot better, even so much as getting confirmation last week after closing the case with Agent Booth’s team that things were good with you guys again, there was still an undercurrent of awkwardness that lingered.

Marcus had started staring at you in indecipherable ways, as though he was trying to figure something out about you. Whenever you asked what was wrong, he would blink and say nothing was wrong. It wasn’t making you uncomfortable by any stretch, but it did serve as a reminder that things between you and Marcus would never be the same again, regardless of how smoothly things were going.

The rain started just after lunch. It was a paper-work heavy day. Most everyone else had cases and were doing investigative work, so it was just you, Marcus, and Patricia, who went home at four-thirty.

Just after five, Marcus popped his head in your office, a pile of paperwork on your desk. “Do you need any help with that?” he asked. “I’m mostly done my own paperwork and I know that most of that has to do with the Temple case.”

Smiling gratefully, you accepted. “Thank you. I have it mostly sorted, it’s just _time-consuming.”_

Marcus chuckled as he pulled up a chair beside you. “I hear you on that one. This is the worst part of the job, I’d say.”

The two of you worked in silence for what seemed hours. As you worked, you spoke about this or that, until the topic came to land on Teresa.

“You know, Booth said some interesting things about her,” said Marcus as he filed away.

You nodded absently. “Oh, yeah? He has a lot of interesting things to discuss. Did you know he’s a descendant of John Wilkes Booth?”

“Huh. Did not know that. Anyway, he said that she and I would have been miserable together,” said Marcus.

You stiffened. That had been what you wanted to say to him as well. “You would have, Marcus. I tried to tell you,” you said, trying to keep a know-it-all tone from your voice. Thunder rolled above you.

“I know you did, and I should have listened,” said Marcus.

Vindication should have been nice, but it felt hollow. “Yeah, you should’ve,” you said, trying not to get defensive as you put away the last bit of finished paperwork.

Marcus faced you. “I’m sorry that I didn’t. But it’s water under the bridge, now.” His eyes fell to a piece of paper that was lying in your outbox. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up.

“Marcus, don’t -”

He read over it once, disbelief crossing his face. “You - you want to transfer?” His voice was hurt.

Heat filled your face as you nodded wordlessly.

“ _Why_? What did I _do_? I thought we were good!” Marcus sounded desperate.

You stood. So did Marcus. “We _are_ good,” you said, “but it can never be the way that it was before.”

Three questions popped into Marcus’s mind. “Why are you doing this? Does this have to do with Teresa? Why didn’t you like her?”

You pulled your raincoat on. The rain was beating down on the windows. “I’m doing this because I want to, Marcus. No, it doesn’t have to do with Teresa. And you know why I didn’t like her. Why I _still_ don’t like her. You know, I never even got to say what I wanted to that night?” Your voice rose. “It has never sat right with me how she played with you to get at Patrick Jane.”

Marcus scoffed. “I’m well aware, thank you very much.”

“You sell yourself short, Marcus. Any woman would be lucky to have you!” You braced yourself for a similar sneering comment like the last time you had been down this road, but it never came.

“Was that what you wanted to tell me the last time we had this conversation? You never did tell me.”

Your eyes narrowed. _“_ No,” you said calmly.

“What is it, then?” he asked.

Zipping up your coat, you pleaded with Marcus. “Please, Marcus. Not now,” you whispered.

He returned his attention to the letter of transfer that was still in his hand. “Why are you doing this then, sweetheart?” Marcus noted the way you softened when he said sweetheart but took nothing of it. “What is it that had you so upset when I was asking Teresa to marry me? What is it? What did I _do_? Tell me so I can make it right. We’re friends, right? You can tell me. What has you set on transferring?”

The words came out of you before you could stop them, a dam broken within you as you shouted over the crack of thunder. “ _Because I love you_!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! This ended up being later than I anticipated (I wanted to have it out last night before Mando). I kind of struggled a little bit with this chapter, but it’s here. And I want to say a thank you to everyone who’s left feedback for the first two parts. I love getting all your comments. I’m kind of sad that this is the last chapter, but I’m going to have another Marcus fic in the works soon-ish!
> 
> Chapter warnings: Swearing, minor angst, kissing, awkward conversations, implied/referenced sex.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian

“ _Because I love you_!”

The words had slipped out before you had a chance to stop them. You clapped your hands over your mouth, as if that would somehow make them be unsaid. But it was too late. Marcus had heard every single word you had just said.

Stunned was probably the best word to describe Marcus. Stunned and … was that realization?

He said your name as another boom of thunder rolled outside. “You love me?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, your hands still covering your mouth, distrusting yourself to speak. Marcus took a step towards you. “How long, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, gently, as he gingerly took your hands in his, pulling them down from your mouth.

Panic coursed through you. Tears pricked your eyes as you wordlessly shook your head.

Marcus asked you again. It was more insistent, but no less calm and gentle. The way that Marcus almost always spoke to you.

Biting down on your lip to stave off the tears, you whispered your answer as another, quieter rumble of thunder echoed through the room.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” Marcus said.

You spoke just loud enough that he could hear you. It was no more than a mumble, but he heard you all the same. “Almost three years.”

Marcus blinked. “Is that … is that why you didn’t want me to marry her?”

You shook your head, mentally willing the tears that threatened to spill over to stay put. “I knew that you wouldn’t be happy in the long run with her. And all I want - Marcus, the only thing I want is for you to be happy.”

Your confession cracked Marcus’s heart. “Was that …? Were you -? You were going to tell me how you felt that night, weren’t you?”

 _And he had ruined it_. _Had ruined everything_.

You nodded wordlessly, a traitorous tear slipping down your cheek.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered. He said your name quietly. “I am so sorry.”

Not daring to meet his look, you pulled your hands from his, needing to leave. You wanted to be alone. “I have to go Marcus. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Marcus called after you, grabbed your upper arm with his hand. Not roughly, just enough to keep you from running.

Feeling either very bold or very stupid, you stood on tiptoes and brushed your lips against his. It couldn’t even be called a kiss. It was simply a grazing of your lips over Marcus’s. It was over before it could start. Marcus wasn’t responsive, but he wasn’t unresponsive either.

You were out the door before Marcus could get his bearings and fully realize what had just happened.

Marcus was stunned. Not that you loved him - if he was being truly honest with himself, he would say that part of him had always known. He had just ignored that whisper that maybe you saw him as more than a friend and co-worker. And that he felt the same about you that you did about him, that he loved you, too.

He knew that he had been a fool when the two of you had fought on his last night in Washington, but now, having put together all the pieces, he knew just how stupid and pig-headed he had truly been.

_If only I had listened - to her and to my gut instinct._

Marcus knew he had messed up with you once, he wasn’t going to do it again.

* * *

You were in the parking lot when Marcus caught up with you. He called after you. “I’m sorry Marcus,” you started, but you were cut off by his lips crashing against yours.

The pouring rain, the thunder, and the lightning all melted into the background as he kissed you. Marcus’s large hands cupped your face as yours landed at his hips, your mouths exploring each others’. His beard tingled against your face deliciously.

Marcus tried to convey as much as he could with his kiss. As his lips slotted against yours, his tongue poking into your mouth, he realized what he was missing was right in front of him.

You leaned your forehead against his, breaking the kiss for a moment. “You’re not just doing this to be - because you feel bad, do you?” you asked, voicing your worst fear behind this being all a dream.

“No, sweetheart. Not at all,” Marcus said, kissing you again with more intensity, his fingers weaving easily into your rain-drenched hair.

As you pulled back, Marcus chased your kiss, giving you a few more pecks for good measure. “ _Sweetheart_.” His voice was strained as he said your name. “Can we talk tomorrow?” he asked. “I can make you dinner.”

You nodded. “Yes, Marcus.”

He kissed you again, just to do so. You sighed against his lips, already quite used to feeling them against yours. “I love you,” you whispered against his cheek before pulling back to step into his car.

“Go home and get dry,” said Marcus. “Oh, and I reject your transfer request.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you said goodnight.

As you drove home, the windshield wipers your soundtrack, you couldn’t believe how this turn of events had happened. You kept touching your slightly kiss-swollen lips to see that it had actually happened, the tingle of Marcus’s beard a phantom still on your skin.

The rain had let up slightly by the time you pulled into the driveway, the thunder no more than a distant rumble as the storm moved away. You still couldn’t believe Marcus had kissed you in the rain - that of stuff usually only happened in the movies. But you couldn’t complain.

Taking a glance at yourself in the entry hall mirror, you were not surprised in the slightest to see that you looked a bit like a drowned rat. A long shower was in order.

You studied yourself in the bathroom mirror a bit longer than you did in the front entry hall. It was jarring, how your eyes looked brighter. Yes, they were glazed with emotion, but it was noticeable all the same. Your lips were still kiss-swollen, but the swelling was starting to go down. And your _smile_. The smile that hadn’t slipped from your face since Marcus had sent you on your way.

Stepping into the hot spray of the shower, you warmed your body up (although you felt very warm already on the inside), washing the day and the last several months’ worth of pain away.

When you emerged from the shower, sufficiently warmed up, you thought back to the events of the parking lot. While Marcus hadn’t exactly vocalized his feelings for you, you were still relieved that he reciprocated them in some way, that he hadn’t just kissed you out of pity. Marcus would never do that, anyway. He was a deliberate man.

It was later than you realized. The clock read just after ten o’clock. You pulled into your pajamas and padded to your bedroom.

Glancing at your phone as you plugged it in, you noticed that Marcus had texted you about ten minutes ago.

 _Good night_.

You smiled, unlocking your phone and sending a reply. _Good night Marcus._

* * *

The following morning, Saturday, the sun still hadn’t returned, but the rain had let up sometime overnight, leaving the mid-autumn air cold and damp. You had slept better than you had in months.

On your bedside table, your phone buzzed. A text from Marcus.

 _Are you up_? _Can we meet?_

It was just past nine in the morning - had you _really_ slept for almost eleven hours? You rubbed your eyes to clear them before responding. _Yes, just woke up. What did you have in mind?_

Marcus’s response came half a minute later. _Breakfast? I know I said dinner, but there’s things that are on my mind_.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you replied. _Sure. I have things on my mind too._

Setting the phone down, you stretched out your legs in bed. Suddenly that warm feeling that you’d been feeling since last night dissipated, as though a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown on you suddenly.

The buzzing of your phone startled you. _Let’s meet at that breakfast restaurant I told you about. Half hour enough time?_ Marcus had replied.

Your response was a single word; you hoped that none of your tension or nerves bled through - or that you were terse. _Great._

Unsure of whether or not this was a date, you decided to dress more on the casual side. Still nice, but not as formal or dressed up as you would have dressed if it was a definitive date.

It was chilly. Pulling on a heavier jacket than you had on the day before, you decided to drive instead of walk even though it was less than twenty minutes away.

Arriving before Marcus, you slid into a booth and ordered a coffee. If you were going to do this - really hash everything out - you needed to be well-caffeinated.

Idly playing with a sugar packet to keep yourself busy, you almost jumped when you heard Marcus say your name.

Standing to greet him, you were unsure of what to do. Did you kiss him? Hug him? Shake his hand? Gratefully it looked like Marcus didn’t know what to do either. You sort of met halfway between a hug and a peck on the cheek.

It relieved you somewhat to see that Marcus was just as nervous as you were. Both of you remembering what had happened the last time you had things to say to each other.

The waiter returned before either of you could say anything to take your orders. Marcus, unsurprisingly, ordered pancakes. You ordered French Toast.

Taking a bracing sip of coffee, you finally allowed yourself to fully return Marcus’s gaze.

“So…” Marcus started. Your shoulders hunched in apprehension. Was he about to break your heart _again_? Had he had second thoughts since last night?

Marcus noticed your tense look and his arm darted across the table to take your hand in his, the gesture more reassuring than you could say. His thumb stroked the top of your hand.

Licking your lips, you said, “Yeah. So, um, _that_ happened.” You couldn’t help but laugh self-consciously.

“Yeah, it sure did,” Marcus replied. “I’m glad it did, though.” Your shoulders slumped in relief, your entire body easing.

 _He didn’t regret it_.

As you tucked into your food, Marcus spoke again. “I just … I wanna know where we stand,” he said.

Around a bite of French Toast, you said, “I do, too.” Neither of you knew what was going on.

“I really liked kissing you last night. It’s something I want to do again,” said Marcus, taking a sip of coffee.

Another thing you could agree upon.

You took a breath, knowing you needed to fully put to rest what had happened last time the two of you had been in this situation. “Marcus. I just - I want you to know that it was never my intention to hurt you that night.”

Marcus sobered slightly, his eyes darkening a little bit. “I know. I understand that now,” he said. “And I want you to know that - I didn’t mean what I said. I was upset. I had rose-coloured glasses on. And I didn’t see - or didn’t want to see - what I had right in front of me.”

 _Right in front of him_.

As Marcus reached out to touch your hand again, you smiled at him softly.

“I know I should have said it better, what I said. But it threw me for a loop, and I panicked. Doesn’t make it all right, I know. I just wanted to make you realize that you can do so much better than Teresa Lisbon.” You wanted to keep her name out of your conversation as much as possible. “It never sat right with me, you know. The way she treated you. Or Patrick for that matter. No one should use another person to show the person they truly want what they’re missing out on.”

You cringed suddenly, worried that you may have overstepped. But Marcus didn’t react. He was pensive. “Booth said just about the same thing,” he remembered. “He told me that I wouldn’t be happy with her. And, the more I’ve had time to reflect, you two were right.” Marcus sighed, not unhappily. “I’m just sorry that you suffered in silence for so long.”

Shutting your eyes for a moment, you felt his hand squeeze yours. “I almost told you so many different times. The timing was never right, and … well … you -” You cut yourself off before continuing. “You seemed to only see me as a friend. And I was fine with that, for a while, anyway.”

Marcus knew that you were right. That up until very, _very_ recently, he thought that he _had_ only seen you as just a friend. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d loved you from the start as well. The way he had been jealous when Ted from accounting asked you out for drinks, and how elated he’d been when you reported the next day that it just wasn’t “there” with you and Ted. How worried he was whenever you went on any risky undercover missions. The way he had brought you coffee, or asked your opinion on things. Marcus Pike realized, in that moment, sitting in the booth with you that he had loved you for almost three years as well.

Marcus pulled his hand back from yours. Leaning across the table, over the empty plates he took your face in his hands and kissed you. It was brief, but you both knew what it was saying.

“I love you, too,” he whispered as you pulled back.

* * *

Marcus loved you. _Loved you._ You were dumbfounded for a moment, trying to gather your bearings.

 _Marcus Pike loved you_.

A single tiny doubt lingered in your mind. “Marcus, you’re not fooling around with me, are you? Not playing some cruel trick on me?”

To answer you, Marcus lifted your hand to his lips. “No word of a lie, sweetheart,” he said against your knuckle, his beard tingling your fingers as he spoke. You were glad he had decided to keep it.

“I’m sorry it had to take what it did to get us here,” you said just as the waiter came back to collect your plates and refill your coffee.

Marcus sighed slightly. “Me, too. I was so sure that you hated me after that night. I - You probably already know, but I’ll say it anyway. I didn’t mean it. What I said when you told me Teresa wasn’t right for me.”

_And if she’s wrong for me, just who exactly is right for me? You?_

“I know,” you whispered. “It just … it hurt when you said it. Like a _lot_. I’m not - I don’t want to say it to make you feel bad and rub it in. But I think you should know.”

Marcus already did know, in spades. “I know that. And I’m really, really sorry. I knew I fucked up the second I said those words.”

“I forgive you. Forgave you a long time ago, actually. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I said some fucked up things that night, too, so I’m not exactly off the hook, either.”

Marcus had forgiven you almost instantly as well, told you as such. Still, one thing puzzled him. “Why did you want to transfer?” he asked.

You gave him an embarrassed grin. “Because I thought I was wasting my time and I wasn’t sure if I could keep working with you in the circumstances we were still under twenty-four hours ago. But we don’t need to use it now. It can be shredded on Monday.” Marcus liked your usage of the word _we_. You paused to take a sip of coffee. “What did you end up doing with the transfer request, anyhow?” you asked.

“I just left it on your desk. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to transfer to the financial crimes department or not. I don’t want you to. You’re one of my best agents.” Marcus said your last name teasingly.

“You’re biased,” you smiled, your fingers tracing his own gingerly.

Marcus smiled that bright, gentle smile that you loved so much. “Only completely.”

“What are we going to do?” you asked, not letting whatever lingering worries you had get to you.

Marcus hummed as he fished out his credit card, noticing the waiter coming with the check. He waved away your protests to pay for your own meal. “I told you, I was going to take you out for a meal. Let me pay, sweetheart. You can get it next time.”

The promise of a next time made any outstanding nerves about this melt away.

As you slipped your coat on, Marcus said, “What we’ll do, is figure it out as we go.” He took your hand in his and led you out into the cold autumn day, stopping to kiss you as you stepped out onto the sidewalk.

* * *

True to Marcus’s word, you figured things out as you went along. It was surprisingly easy discussing it with human resources. All they really wanted to know was if your relationship was going to affect your job or if Marcus would give you preferential treatment since Marcus was technically your boss.

You loved how easily things came between you and Marcus. It was like there was new clarity after your breakfast date.

Things didn’t happen too fast or too slow in your opinion. They happened as they felt right. Your first time with Marcus happened two weeks after you had hashed things out, after he had made you dinner. Sitting on the couch, half in his lap, your lips were never too far from his. Something had shifted suddenly, and you needed him as much as he needed you. Marcus was gentle. Tender. His touch was soft as your bodies merged, his words of praise whispered softly against your ear as he pressed kisses down your face.

Before you knew it, the events involving Teresa, Patrick, that fateful night at the diner, and the awkward tension that followed were things of distant memory. The scars had healed over, no longer painful. You and Marcus had healed together well. Both of you knew the depths of your love for each other. And in some way, you had to thank Teresa because otherwise you wouldn’t have this wonderful, good man at your side.

Marcus asked you to move in on your six-month anniversary. “If it’s too soon, it’s fine. I can wait as long as you need -” You had cut him off with a kiss.

“Of course I’ll move in with you, silly. I’m here like, six nights of the week anyway.”

It was true. You felt at home the second you had stepped over the threshold the first time you had come to Marcus’s house the day after you had made things official. Moving in officially was more of a formality than anything else, given how often you were at his house. In his bed. It had taken on your smell, Marcus had told you, faux-sternly. “What smell it should really take on,” he had said, “is our combined smell.”

You had played coy, gliding your hands up and down his sides. “And how do you propose we do that, Agent Pike?”

Life with Marcus was simple. As the months bled into a year, eighteen months, two years, the idea of marriage began to form more permanently in your mind. And then you found it while putting away his socks one afternoon while he was out doing errands. The ring box. When he got home half an hour later, you were sure in what you were going to do.

That night as you tidied up from dinner, you asked him. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual.

“That’s never good,” Marcus teased. You smiled. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Your voice was gentle when you said, “Marry me.” It was to the point.

As Marcus scooped you up in his arms, whispering yes in between kisses, you knew that he was the right person for you. And you were the right person for him, and now you were going to spend the rest of your life with him.

_The End_


End file.
